Chosen (3 page)

Chapter Four

T
o reach the upper region of the Underworld where Morpheus's realm, Erebus, lay, they had to travel along all five subterranean rivers—which meant a lot of souls reaching out, calling to them in the darkness, pleading for their journeys to be swift and painless. It was enough to make Kyana wish she'd invited Ryker along to quickly port them into the realm instead of being forced to take this slow, tortuous ferry ride.

But Erebus was one of the few places that prevented such means of travel. Security was tight, and for good reason. Cronos opening the gates of Tartarus had led to extreme measures of precaution. But even before that, the realm had been bound by magic even Olympus seemed to lack.

“We'll let Morpheus connect me to her,” Geoffrey said, stepping closer to Haven. “Less emotional baggage with me.”

It was painful to watch Haven ease away from him.

She doesn't trust us at all anymore
. Not that Kyana could blame her. They didn't really trust Haven either.

“Less emotional baggage, my ass,” Kyana muttered, longing to point out that he was still making goo-goo eyes at the woman he claimed to have more distance from. “If anyone's going to do it,” she said to his back, “it will be me.”

Geoffrey glared at her, then promptly turned back around to face the front of the ferry.

The poor bastard was in love with Haven. It was written all over his face. As the new God of the Underworld, however, he didn't stand much chance of finding a happily-ever-after with her. Especially if she was found guilty and sentenced to suffer in Tartarus under his watch.

She exhaled, quietly nervous about what was to come. She didn't like to dream, where she couldn't control her environment or the people inside it.

People she never wanted to see again, whether in reality or in her subconscious. When she couldn't find peaceful sleep, it was always the same people plaguing her nights. Images of her past. Images of her human life, of her abusive, murdering husband, Mehmet, and the lecherous first wife who'd rained hell upon the other women in Mehmet's harem. Images of the man who'd saved her from certain death and had turned her into the Vampyre/Lychen she'd become, who'd loved her like a daughter, raised her in this new world, and then left her, murdered as she'd watched and mourned and prayed for a death of her own.

No. Kyana didn't like to dream because she couldn't run from her past while she slept.

It totally sucked donkey balls.

She wasn't looking forward to this at all. She'd met Morpheus only once, when he'd come out of his cave to Above in an effort to rein in his little imps when they'd gone on strike in Egypt. He'd been a reefer-smoking Bob Marley look-alike whose main concern in life was making sure people had as many bad dreams as good.

She shivered as they drifted through a narrow passage where two gates, one of ivory, the other of polished horn so bright it lit the darkness, stood sentinel on either side of the water.

She could have lived two more lifetimes without ever knowing what was in this realm.

“What are those?” Haven asked.

“The gates of dreams,” Geoffrey explained, stepping closer to Haven. “False dreams pass through the ivory while prophetic dreams go through the horn.” He pointed to a soft glow around the next bend. “That should be the wilted elm. Morpheus's home is not far now.”

The ferry slipped around the next turn. Sure enough, she saw a wilted elm with winged phantom-shaped wisps hanging from the thick branches. The way they moved, as if pushed by an invisible wind, turning ever so slowly to stare at her with sightless eyes, caused her to take a step back.

“And those?” Haven asked again, backing away from Geoff.

“Oneiroi dreams waiting to be released to the dreamers.”

The ferry docked and Kyana shivered again. She and Haven followed Geoffrey up a small rise where Kyana expected a house or, at the very least, a cave like the one the Fates worked in. She certainly wasn't prepared to see four large cabanas complete with thatched roofs. If they weren't on the far side of the River Styx with transitional souls all around them, she could have imagined herself on a beach somewhere.

“Oh look, we have guests.”

A man dressed in an overly bright orange shirt and gray ball cap, flowered board shorts, and flip-flops appeared in front of them.

He looked nothing like Bob Marley anymore, but Kyana instantly recognized the maroon in his eyes and the golf ball–sized mark on his neck to know she was staring at Morpheus.

“Who the hell are you supposed to be this time?” she asked, trying not to glare. After all, they had come to him for a favor. Better not to piss him off straightaway.

Morpheus's grin widened. “Welcome to Margaritaville.” When Kyana still didn't react, he added, “Cheeseburger in Paradise?”

“Jimmy Buffet,” Haven muttered, moving to stand between Kyana and Geoffrey. The minute they'd stepped onto sand, Geoffrey had placed himself between her and Morpheus. Haven wasn't a coward, however. She never had been. It was one of the things Kyana loved most about her.

“Ding, ding, ding. We have a winner.” Morpheus beamed at her, flashing white Chiclets-sized teeth in her direction.

Morpheus led the way to the largest of the four cabanas, sat on one of the loungers, and poured a round of frozen drinks into three sugar-rimmed glasses. She ignored the beverage, but Haven picked hers up and moved it toward her mouth. Geoffrey took the glass from her before she could take a sip.

There was no way they were drinking anything Morpheus offered. Anyone who could keep a frozen drink frozen this close to Tartarus couldn't be trusted. She was already sweating, her chiton clinging to her in a chafing manner that had her squirming every so often to adjust herself discreetly.

Morpheus gestured to the other bamboo loungers spread around an Igloo cooler. “Sit, sit. It's not often that I get a visit from fellow gods and goddesses. Tell me what's going on Beyond? Any luck spotting my Chosen?”

As Kyana sat, bright light lit up the small camp like the real sun, drying some of the perspiration gathering on her forehead, but doing nothing to help with the ravaging heat. “I wish.”

She'd much rather be dealing with a saner, newer version of Morpheus than this crazy loon, but Morpheus's Chosen was likely dead, just like several other MIAs.

As if sensing her rising frustration, Geoff sat between Kyana and Haven and draped his arm casually around both of their shoulders. Too warm already, she shrugged him off. Her golden skin was turning pink. It was like she'd stepped into a crematorium.

“So, you've come to the great Morpheus for assistance, have you?” Morpheus sang, his face turning ruddy as the heat thickened around them. “Of course you have. Why else would you have come where no one wishes to visit?”

“You think you know why we're here?” Kyana asked.

“You'll find soon enough that our little world of gods is like a henhouse. Something happens, we're all squawking about it in a matter of minutes.”

He pulled a cigar from his bright shirt pocket, on which a tiny parrot had been embroidered. “Hope you don't mind your business being bandied about. It won't be long before we all know the exact tone of your moans and groans and the squeaks of your bedsprings.”

That his eyes seemed to imply he knew about her and Ryker's relationship didn't bother Kyana—they hadn't tried to keep it a secret. But that any of the gods might be privy to what they did behind closed doors nearly made her blush.

Morpheus looked at Haven. “Word is that Cronos, or at least his supporters, are running amok Below again.”

He lit the cigar, took several short puffs, then let out a dozen perfect circles of smoke. The bright red tip of the cigar blazed, almost hypnotically, as he rolled it around his palm to form a little cone of the barely-there ashes.

“You think this mixed breed can show you something in her dreams.”

“How the hell do you know that?” Kyana asked. She should be used to the way the gods worked by now, but it still managed to cause her head to spin a little every time something strange was presented to her.

“You spoke the words to him,” Morpheus said, jutting his chin toward Geoffrey. “My name was mentioned. I was alerted.”

Oh. Well. That was creepy.

“Will you help us?” Haven whispered.

“It's not often I get to watch my pets play here in my own realm.” He clamped the cigar between his teeth and rubbed his hands together as though trying to strike a fire with two sticks. “Let's get started, shall we?”

He cocked his head, peering into the nothingness above the cabanas. “Hear that? My babies are home.”

Three bright green parrots and one of pure white fluttered in from out of nowhere, taking roost upon the nearest cabana's roof. “They'll sing you to sleep if you find trouble.”

Kyana leaned in to Geoffrey. “He's freaking loony toons.”

“With the ears of a bat, Goddess.” Morpheus stood, stretched out his stubby arm, which was covered in fine gray hairs. The white cockatiel lifted from her roost to land gracefully on his wrist. “This is Slumber. She'll make certain you stay tied to your friend's dreams once you find them.”

Wow. He really
did
know exactly why they'd come to him. Kyana couldn't help but be a little impressed, and admittedly, a little creeped out.

“Just stay still. She's a lover, not a biter.” Morpheus guffawed at his own bad joke and bent to pull a small chest from under his lounger. From it, he unraveled a scroll of blank parchment and plucked out a quill that looked crafted from one of his beloved pets.

“Are these Oneiroi?” she asked, looking the bird dead in the eye. It blinked and seemed to smile.

“Indeed. Much prettier than their normal bodies, wouldn't you say?”

Kyana agreed. The only Oneiroi she'd ever seen had looked like creatures from one of the movies Haven used to watch all the time—
Gremlins
. But Slumber was quite gorgeous. The feathers crowning her tiny head as she bobbed her neck up and down stood straight up as though praying. Flecks of silver rimmed her black eyes, and in the depths of the pupils, only if she looked hard enough, Kyana could see the small sphere of red that belied Slumber's demonic heritage.

“Here.” Morpheus handed the quill and parchment to Kyana. “Write the name of your friend and feed it to my girl. Then let her”—he pointed at Haven—“do the same.”

Kyana opened her mouth to question him, but Geoffrey shook his head. “Don't ask. Just do it.”

Wanting to get this over with as quickly as possible, she wrote down Haven's name, then handed over the quill and parchment. While Haven wrote, Kyana rolled the parchment into a tiny ball and offered it to Slumber.

The bird gently took the parchment in her mouth, rolled it briefly on her tongue, then resumed her head bobbing before flying off to land on Haven's shoulder. The bird devoured her paper as well, then let out a loud squeal.

“That's my lovely girl,” Morpheus crooned.

“What do they need to do to ensure this works?” Geoffrey asked. “I'd rather not have to repeat this process.”

“They'll do nothing but get comfortable and fall asleep. Slumber will assure their dreams find their targets.” Morpheus pulled a light cover and several pillows from a trunk and set them beside Kyana before doing the same for Haven.

Kyana frowned. There was no way she could let her guard down knowing Morpheus was leering at her. The god gave her the heebie-jeebies, and even with Geoffrey standing guard, she didn't trust the pothead not to try something that would cause her to kill him before they could locate a replacement for him. He had sexual deviant written all over his squat body.

As if knowing what she was thinking, Morpheus shrugged. “I can do what you need. But you have to want it or we're wasting our time.”

He stretched out on his lounger, relit his cigar, and pulled a beer from the cooler in front of his chair. “What'll it be?”

With a sigh, Kyana stood and spread the blanket in a shadow-filled corner of the cabana, then arranged the pillows before settling herself upon them. Geoffrey took Haven's hand, holding it too tightly for her to pull away, and escorted her to lie beside Kyana. Once they were both settled, Slumber fluttered inside and landed at the head of their makeshift bed.

Flicking her finger lightly over the bird's head, Kyana said, “You better not get lost along the way or your stoned little boss there will have to find himself a new pet. Got it?”

Slumber fluffed her crown of feathers and seemed to smile as if to say,
Trust me
.

Kyana rolled her head to the side to look at Haven. “Ready?”

“As I'll ever be.”

Kyana watched Haven reach out and take Geoffrey's hand. It was the first time she'd done anything so friendly since her Turning. The gesture made Kyana look away to hide her faint smile.

With a sigh, she closed her eyes and tried to focus on the sound of the water and the feel of the soft sand beneath her.

“You have to relax,” Haven said. “Get out of your own way.”

“I don't see you asleep yet,” Kyana grumbled.

“Working on it.”

Kyana rolled onto her side. Slumber shifted, her tiny little claws scrapping Kyana's thigh, but not hard enough to break the skin.

It wasn't long before the soft sounds of Haven's breath confessed she'd succeeded before Kyana. Shortly after, Kyana felt herself slowly slipping into unconsciousness.

Chapter Five

W
ithin a moment after falling asleep, Kyana found herself deluged with the very images of her past she'd hoped to avoid. Her marriage to Mehmet. The beatings suffered at the hands of his first wife, Azime. The torturous rape that led to Kyana's own death. Then, as always, the man who'd claimed her as daughter, changed her into the Dark Breed she'd become and rescued her from a life of abuse.

She waited, her chest heavy with dread, for the images of his murder to infiltrate the other memories as they always did, but she was thankfully spared. Instead, the dream became darker, colder, and then, finally, it morphed into Cronos's face, and his eerie laugh became the sound track to the nightmare.

There was no ground below her. No sky above her. She was surrounded by nothingness, as weightless as air. The eerie laughter ceased so that the only sound became the blood rushing through her veins. Where was Haven? Kyana wasn't supposed to be alone here! Trapped . . . on the verge of a panic attack—

Her feet smacked something firm and hard and her world became sharp, distinct pictures once again. A marshy landscape. Sounds of swampland—the croaking frogs, the sporadic splashes of gods-knew-what lurking beneath the dark water. The panic that had shrouded her dream lifted. Her breathing and heartbeat slowed as her nightmares receded and she settled into what she somehow knew were
Haven's
dreams.

Saw grass swayed in the wind, biting at her bare ankles. The gusts kicked up, causing fine sand to sting her skin and make her eyes burn as she stumbled over a cypress root. Slumber floated on the breeze above, hovering just out of reach. Each time Kyana stopped, the bird turned and circled until she once again followed.

Then she was standing at the entrance of an old cemetery where the landscape had grown over the few intact headstones. Was this what Haven was seeing right now too? She wasn't exactly sure how all of this worked, but she doubted Haven had seen the images of Azime and Mehmet and Henry. At least, she prayed not. Those were private. Too frightening for words. Too horrifying to share.

Her gaze fell to the branch rubbing against her arm, and she jumped when she saw Haven pressed against a tree trunk, watching her with frightened eyes.

“Where are we?”

Haven clutched her throat. Her lips moved, but it was as though she existed in a silent movie. Her frustration made her eyes shimmer. She finally gave up trying to make Kyana understand and gestured for her to follow down old paths to the back of the cemetery.

Kyana scanned the area. Dark Mages tended a naked man in the firelight. Cronos stood less than twenty feet away. She'd never seen him except in her dreams, yet somehow she always knew it was him. Long, waist-length ebony hair. Ivory skin. Impeccably dressed in velvet and lace as though he'd stepped straight out of the Regency era. She couldn't hear the words he spoke, but the evil smile darkening his face caused her skin to slither.

They made their way through the shadows until they stood a couple of feet behind him. Oh how she wished for a weapon, some way to kill the bastard in her dreams—Haven's dreams?—that would keep him dead when reality returned. But she had no weapons, no magic that would allow her to attempt such a thing—even if it were possible.

She took a step forward. Then another . . . until she was so close she could smell his scent. In this reality, he smelled of musky sandalwood rather than sulfur, and as much as she didn't want to, she found it soothing . . . calming . . . alluring. She took another step toward him.

Cronos jerked in their direction, snapping Kyana out of what had felt like a near-trance state. Uncertain whether he could see them, she grabbed Haven by the arm and ducked behind a crypt. Her heart pounding, she peeked around the structure to find his attention had returned to the naked man now under the blankets.

“You have the opportunity to live again,” Cronos said. “However, for this gift to be yours, you must pledge your life and loyalty to me. I will be your lord and master. You will be mine to command. Honor what I require of you, and I will give you free rein to work your special art on the human world with no one to stop you.”

Slowly, the man reached out to grasp Cronos's hand and was pulled to his feet. “If you refuse my terms, the process beginning in you will end immediately. But I am merciful. Unlike your last death, this one will be quick and painless.”

“What . . . what is it that you want from me?” The man huddled under the blanket. “You know who I am. What I did to be buried here.”

“I do.”

“I killed . . . so many.” The shame in his voice was nearly palpable. “What could I possibly do for someone like you?”

“What you've always done best.” Cronos smiled. “Only better. You'll have power the likes of which you've never imagined. Allow my coven to tend to you, and soon, you'll be strong enough to contain the magic that will serve me well.”

“What is he doing?” she whispered to Haven.

Haven gripped her throat. Tears welled in her eyes. She slowly shook her head as though to say she didn't know any more than Kyana did. She turned back to the scene before her in time to see the man shake off his blanket and kneel before the altar erected between the rows of unmarked graves.

“I have caused enough pain and sorrow in one lifetime and spent another paying penance for what I've done. I wish no more blackness on my soul.”

Kyana held her breath, not wanting to see what Cronos would do to the man who'd refused his offer but unable to look away.

“As you wish.” Cronos placed his hand upon the man's head. Instantly, the man's eyes glazed over and he crumpled to the dirt. “Such a waste,” Cronos muttered. Dusting off his hands, he stepped away from the body and faced his Mages. “Put him with the others.”

The others?
What others?

The Mages nodded and turned their attention to the twice-dead man at their feet.

“They've come, my lord.”

The unexpected voice caused Kyana to jump back, whacking her head against a tree as she moved to hide again.

“At last,” Cronos breathed.

Her gaze swerved to the spot in the trees that now held Cronos's attention. A figure moved through the shadows like the shades of Hades. When the figure split to outline three forms, Kyana held her breath, squinting to make any details come alive, but they simply wouldn't. They were just three faceless shadows that seemed to matter a great deal to Cronos. He waved his guests into the firelight.

Two of them stepped forward, and Kyana stopped breathing altogether. The third figure remained in the trees, but she paid it no more attention. What held her riveted were the faces illuminated by the fiery orange lights of the campfire. For a horrifying moment, they looked just like Azime and Mehmet. But just as quickly, they looked like strangers.

Cronos knew she and Haven were there. He was screwing with their heads. He had to be. Or maybe Kyana had brought those images with her when she'd transitioned from her own dreams to Haven's.

But one thing she knew for certain. Haven had been right. This was no mere dream. There was something different, something tangible about it that made it feel more like a Seer's vision than a sleepy hallucination. Whatever this was, it was really happening. Kyana was willing to stake her life on it.

She felt a slight pull inside her belly, felt the weight of the heavy world being lifted from her mind, and slowly opened her eyes to find Haven staring down at her.

“Did
that
feel like a freaking nightmare?” she asked, her greenish-yellow eyes narrowed.

Kyana's tongue felt thick in her mouth, as though she'd just eaten the contents of a full ashtray.

“No.” She tried swallowing a few times to make her throat less dry and turned her gaze to Geoffrey. “We need to find Ryker and the others.”

“Why?”

“Because . . .” She struggled to her feet, swaying slightly as a wave of dizziness nearly toppled her back over. “Cronos is raising an army, and we can guess who the top five on his most wanted list is.”

And there was no way in hell Kyana was going to let the bastard near any of them.